


Home

by TheObsidianWarlock



Series: The Lord Admiral and Ranger General Universe [1]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Dancing Prompt, F/F, Hopeful Winter Veil Fluff, Post-Canon, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 18:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17146652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheObsidianWarlock/pseuds/TheObsidianWarlock
Summary: After the wars settle on Azeroth, two women, once sworn enemies, meet once again. One offers the comfort and warmth of a home; and the other finds one at last.Set slightly in the future, in a time of relative peace.





	Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JE_Talveran](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JE_Talveran/gifts), [katofthenorth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katofthenorth/gifts), [UninspiredPoet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UninspiredPoet/gifts), [Redisaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redisaid/gifts), [QuickYoke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickYoke/gifts), [and many others](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=and+many+others).



> Merry Christmas to all who celebrate! I bring to you a small helping of happiness and generosity to add to the season!
> 
> Forgiveness, please, for any errors - this was posted rather quickly on Christmas Eve, with my kids bounding about!

Winter Veil normally found the streets of Boralus jovial and boisterous from dawn to well after nightfall. In the three years of peace between Horde and Alliance nations, Kul-Tiras had regained their wealth and reputation as the premier traders in the world, and their great navy stood repaired and ready. 

The annual party in Proudmoore Keep eclipsed all other events in the Alliance. The festivities along the streets of Boralus lasted nearly two weeks start to finish. 

Not today, however. Today, alarm bells echoed in the morning mists, and warriors mustered at the harbor walls. 

The early dawn cast dim, violet hues across the waters. A fleet of ships, perhaps three dozen strong, coasted along in the light winds, bearing down on land. Ships of all kinds floated gently along in the waters. The skull and bone edging of Forsaken cutters, orcish warships … even a handful of Zandalari ships, easily the most dangerous in the fleet.

Scouts on gryphonback reported similar stories: Undead sailors to a man, every crew. Each boat heavy in the water with hundreds of bodies. When no one needed food, drink or sleep, the only thing that mattered was space. The fleet that approached easily held twenty thousand; perhaps even more.

Jaina Proudmoore parted the crowd of archers and gunners on the walkway atop the harbor gates, joining the other leaders as they gathered there. Her magics thrummed beneath her skin, primed and ready to defend her people.

“They’re a massive fleet, Lord Admiral,” Lucille said to her, peering through a spyglass. 

“I’d heard rumors of the Forsaken moving about,” Jaina said. “To see them…”

“They’re less than two hours to shore,” Tandred growled as he stomped up to them, still buckling his blade on. “I’ll get the fleet moving. With luck, they’ll remember who it is they’re approaching and move on.”

“Wait.” Jaina held up her hand. “The Tides tell me nothing of danger. If anything, they’re … intrigued.”

“Aye,” said Admiral Stormsong as he approached. “I feel an eagerness, but nothing malicious.”

“What?” Tandred blinked for a moment, then scowled. “You can’t possibly mean to let a force that large approach the harbor, Jaina! Even if it were Stormwind ships, it’s unheard of!”

“No, not to harbour,” Jaina agreed. “But we can’t parley if we don’t actually allow them to attempt it.”

“Par— with the bitch that raised Derek?!”

“Tan.”

“Lady Jaina,” Lucille interrupted, “their flagship’s inward bound. The rest of the fleet is furling sails and dropping anchor just inside the drop off. She’s — she’s got the white flag raised.” 

Jaina and Tandred eyed each other, then Jaina closed her eyes and let her magic extend. Her vision swept out to sea like a bird in fight, taking her to the deck of the incoming ship. The Banshee Queen stood near the prow, her shoulders hunched as she gripped the rail. Her posture radiated defeat and exhaustion. Looking her over, Jaina wondered exactly how many battles Sylvanas had survived these past years.

Her violet armor, normally exquisitely kept, hung battered and broken, its leather torn in several places and most of its decorative feathers missing. The ornamental skulls were dented, some beyond recognition. One of the horns on her bow was snapped off, and several chips and gouges marred the design across the shaft.

Her face expressed more than anything else. Gone was her hood, torn away in one battle or another. Her thin blond hair, so pale as to be nearly white, hardly blew in the wind, so tangled and unkempt it was. Her eyebrows, extending well beyond her face like like all elves, were frazzled and singed; they stooped low, echoing the woman’s saddened gaze. Her long ears sagged, as though she hadn’t the energy left to lift them. Her crimson eyes, normally aglow with malice and determination, were a dull, colourless gleam, as though she mustered only the barest energy necessary for existence.

Gone was the Warchief of the Horde that had spread such fear and terror among the nations of the Alliance – and some of the Horde as well. In her place stood a broken, tired woman, grasping at what few remaining straws she could.

Jaina’s heart ached to see the dull, hopeless expressions of the undead on the ship’s deck. Drummed out of the Horde, they wandered at sea now, looking for somewhere – anywhere… 

At Winter’s Veil, of all times.

With a sigh, Jaina called further on her magic, and fashioned an image for herself. It was time to parley.

\---<<(((0)))>>\---

“Lady Windrunner—”

Sylvanas spun, bringing her bow to bear.

“—Welcome to Kul-Tiras.”

Sylvanas lowered her weapon as she took in the image before her. Jaina Proudmoore, Lord Admiral of Kul-Tiras, had changed somewhat in the years since she’d last seen her. Time had apparently been kind to her.

She dressed largely as she always had – leather pants, boots, modest corset, and a cloak and pauldrons – all in the whites and blues of long-lost Theramore. Her staff floated freely behind her, at ease. Her eyes were bright and blue, however, free of the dark circles of fatigue that Sylvanas remembered. Her long hair flowed freely; most shockingly, where once it was mostly bleached white from trauma and mana exposure, it was now a uniform light blonde once more. 

Jaina smiled. 

Sylvanas set her face, and bowed slightly, and began her painful speech.

“Lord Admiral,” she said, her voice reverberating with restrained power. “As you no doubt know, I have been forced from my home by the Horde. The Forsaken are no longer aligned, and we are searching for sanctuary. I have approached the individual nations of the Horde – all have refused us, several violently. You are the first Alliance nation I have approached. 

“So,” she dropped to one knee and bowed her head, her humiliation physically painful in its completeness, “I come now as I once was long ago: A vagabond. Will you offer us a place to stay, to recover, even for a time?”

She did not look up. She could not bear to see the look of scorn on Proudmoore’s face, or the looks of pity from her crew. They followed her for years, through every plan, every scheme, every victory, and even now, in devastating loss. 

The war against the Old Gods had cut across her plans to consolidate Forsaken power in the Horde, plans that had made her several internal enemies. When the fog of war had cleared, the other nations had made painfully clear that the Banshee Queen and her Forsaken were no longer welcome among them. 

Even still, she had approached each; negotiating, and then begging. All had refused.

Now, she moved on to those she already knew would refuse. But she had to try. Her people deserved no less.

“I see,” the mage said, her image nodding. “Give me a few moments to confer with my council. I will return shortly.”

With a gentle bow, Proudmoore disappeared. 

Exhaling the remainder of her breath, Sylvanas stood, resisting the urge to draw another. She resumed her position at the rail, slumping down to rest on her elbows. While this was the best response to date – none of the other leaders had ‘conferred with their council’ before refusing – she expected no less from the most diplomatic soul in the Alliance. 

_Belore_ , she wondered, as the minutes ticked away, how many pages of flattering text Proudmoore could write to tell her ‘No. I hate you. Go away.’

At least say the words straightforwardly and sincerely. 

A shimmer drew her attention. She turned and stood more upright, seeing a host of illusions before her. 

“Lady Windrunner,” Proudmoore began. “This is my council. Admirals Waycrest and Stormsong,” she indicated a woman and man. “My mother, Admiral Proudmoore.” The elderly woman pinned her with a stern gaze. “And my brother, High Captain Proudmoore.” The red-haired man, clearly a sailor, nearly growled at her.

“We have discussed your request and have reached a unanimous conclusion.”

Ah. Here it was, pretty and formal, just like Proudmoore herself. 

“All of us are leery of you—” another euphemism, “—but nonetheless, we have an offer.”

Sylvanas’ eyebrows defied her will as they rose of their own accord, such was her surprise. “An offer?” she echoed, waiting for the hidden blade to strike. Would they demand her life for her crimes? Would they still honor a deal for her people? Would her people even agree to such a thing?

“The western island of Kul-Tiras, Drustvar, is currently home to hostile peoples,” the male Proudmoore said. “We are beginning a campaign to purge them and were discussing how to raise or hire soldiers for the coming operations.”

“As fortune would have it,” Admiral Waycrest continued, “here you are, with a fleet carrying an army.”

Sylvanas brow fell with her hopes. “You want me to fight a war for you,” she said flatly. 

“Not alone,” the Lord Admiral asserted, her blue eyes holding her gaze. “I will fight and plan alongside you and lend my magic to the cause.” Jaina then swept her hand behind her. “My Tidesages will also assist, and I can provide reserve troops for supply lines and to hold ground. What I am missing, however, is a true body of battle-tested soldiers. Too many were lost in the war, and we have not yet recovered.

But you will not be alone.”

Sylvanas nodded. “I see. So, I fight for you, and then…?”

“The island will be free for you and your people to inhabit,” Admiral Waycrest said. “My ancestral manor lies there, but I have since relocated – you may use it if you wish.”

“Ah. Fight for the land, and keep it? Is that the deal, then?”

Jaina looked at the others, frowning, before once again turning to Sylvanas. “No.”

The others wore disapproving scowls, but Jaina ignored them. “Sylvanas Windrunner, listen to me. I will not allow my homeland to be divided in the name of past hatred. This is my offer, in its entirety:

“Fight with us: Lead the battle; guide my spells; call upon my Tidesages for healing and support. When we are victorious, I will help you and your people settle. I will show you the resources that you might mine, and the best locations to farm and fish. I will aid in the construction of homes and whatever else you require.”

“A Forsaken Island…” Sylvanas mused. That might—

_“No,”_ Proudmoore reiterated, annoyed. “Not isolated. Not apart from us.”

She swept her hands again, grandly. “That is exactly what I will not abide. A situation of exclusion. I will not do that to you – or to us. Hear me,” she called to the crowd of undead gathering behind them. “Do this thing, fight this battle, and you will not join us merely as Forsaken – because we will not forsake you. If you join us, whatever you choose to call yourselves, you join us as _Kul-Tirans._ as part of us.

“You may indeed start on that island by yourselves, but it will not always be so. In the years to come, I want to see a mingling of peoples across the islands, production, trade, business and celebration; we will do it all together. As one people. 

“We have lived too long as ‘us’ and ‘them.’ For the sake of our future – and the entire world – that concept must die. Join us today, and we become a ‘we.’ Join us, fly green and gold from your sails, and you will forever have a home.”

Sylvanas fought to gather the breath needed to reply. Already, she could hear the muted cheering behind her, the hope rekindled in the cold, dead hearts of her people. 

The Admirals seemed less than thrilled at their leader’s speech, but Jaina’s mother and brother seemed at peace with it. Her mother, especially, smiled proudly at her daughter.

“What becomes of me, then?” Sylvanas asked at length. “By the sounds of it, we become ordinary, tax playing citizens – you wish us to earn our keep, after all, or you would not have bothered mentioning resources.”

“You do,” Jaina agreed with a nod. “I would have you join my council and help me form policy that includes and respects your people and whatever traditions you hold dear, while integrating you with ours.”

Sylvanas nearly scoffed but retained what meagre dignity she had left. “You wish me to serve you? You would forgive our past encounters? The blood between us?” Already she shook her head.

“Yes,” came the surprising pronouncement. “Fight this battle and all will be forgiven.”

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes, a thousand thoughts screaming at her all at once. “In what official capacity? Clearly, everyone I see has a purpose – Stormsong is a Tidesage, Waycrest a businesswoman, your brother commands the fleet. Your mother was once Lord Admiral, so clearly she’s your second.”

Jaina nodded with a smile. “All true.”

“So, what of me? What would you need me for, other than to pester about the needs of the undead?”

“With the Forsaken joining us, and as our own armies recover, I believe we will need a leader for our ground forces.”

“And you would have me?” Sylvanas asked incredulously. Surely the there was some catch to this—

“Yes.”

Sylvanas waited and waited. There had to be more. There _had_ to be. So many people hated her, and rightfully so – her actions as Warchief, and even before, had been ruthless. Everything she’d done had been in the name of her Forsaken, but regardless, she understood. How could Proudmoore offer such a fair – such a _merciful_ bargain to her?

“Sylvanas,” Jaina urged her. “Accept. You do not have to carry these people on your own. Lay down this burden on my shoulders. I will care for our people, if you ensure they return from battle victorious. Lay down the title of Queen and be my Ranger-General.”

Crimson eyes bored into blue as Sylvanas searched for – what? She had no idea, but … but she was so tired. Tired of struggling endlessly and failing again and again to achieve anything that even resembled peace and comfort for her and her people. 

So tired…

“Sylvanas.”

Slowly, Sylvanas once again lowered herself to one knee, bowing her head.

“So be it,” she whispered quietly, steeling herself. Then she looked up to Jaina.

“I will be your blade,” she intoned formally. “My allegiance, my skill, my knowledge and my people – all are yours. I am Sylvanas Windrunner, once Ranger-General of Silvermoon, and later … several other unimportant titles. I offer my services and leadership to you, Lord Admiral Proudmoore, to use as you see fit.”

“Rise, Ranger-General.” Jaina lifted her hands, and the winds blew powerfully. Exclamations behind her drew her gaze, and she watched as one after the other the sails of her ships turned green, the large main sail bearing the bronze anchor crest of Kul-Tiras. Soon, her entire fleet sported green sails.

“Welcome home, my people!” Jaina’s voice boomed with magical power. “Here, you will find shelter from any storm. Here, you will find the end to every journey. Warm hearths, good food and drink, and succour for any wound or illness. Here, you will find honest work, honest pay, friends, family, celebration in times of joy, and support in times of grief. 

“I know I have asked you to fight – and fight we shall, together! But here, and now, I tell you – you are not beholden to victory alone! Fight earnestly, with the valor and ferocity I know you are capable of, and know that while you call yourselves Forsaken, you are _not._ You are home, among kin. 

“You are now, and always will be, _Kul-Tiran!_ ”

Her people cheered; some roared battle cries in anticipation of the fight to come. The more skeptical muttered amongst themselves, though even they seemed cautiously hopeful after so many weeks stuck on the ships. All this reached her ears. 

But Jaina had held her gaze throughout her speech, and Sylvanas felt the stirrings of her heart. Long lost emotions arose that she struggled to name… hope, duty, dignity—

Dignity. Identity.

And a new, fierce respect for the woman who stood before her.

Sylvanas stared at the green and gold sails, feeling the stirrings of pride – a sense of self that had died long ago when Silvermoon had fallen to the Lich King. 

“If you are ready,” Jaina said, “I can guide your ships to shore in a location where we can set up a proper camp.”

“Lead the way,” Sylvanas said, bowing slightly. “My Lady.”

Jaina giggled, while the rest of her council looked nonplussed. 

Sylvanas matched the smile of the Lord Admiral, her sense of relief so powerful she swore her spine grew a half-inch.

“Now, show me this war you need won.”

\---<<(((0)))>>\---

_A YEAR LATER…_

Jaina moved about the party, greeting people as she passed. A fair number were undead – encouraging progress in her efforts to have everyone mingle.

A year had passed – just a year ago, she’d offered a home to Sylvanas and her Forsaken. In that time, they’d cleared Drustvar, built four separate villages, reopened the mines in the mountains and started a dozen more besides; and covered the usable land with farms and gardens as fast as the Tidesages could help revive the soil. 

Just four months ago, Tandred had hired several of the undead onto the fleet as sailors, and last week she’d christened a new ship, Lady of the Island, under the commission of an undead captain. 

Cohabitation was less dramatic – there were only a small population of undead in Boralus, and hardly any yet in smaller settlements. Still, it was underway without any serious incident, and she was content. 

Winters Veil had come again, and things were moving along wonderfully. Trade was at an all time high, her ships were safe, and she now searched for the woman who had helped make such success possible.

Ah. There she was. Sylvanas moved about at the edge of the party, conspicuously close to the doors. Her polished armor – green with silver trim, reminiscent of Silvermoon – gleamed in the light of the chandeliers. As she spotted Jaina, her crimson eyes flared brighter, and she strode over to her, a smile growing on her lips.

“Hello, Sylvanas.” 

“Lady Jaina,” Sylvanas said softly. The sultry voice made Jaina’s heart skip a beat. 

“Always so formal,” Jaina chided. Sylvanas simply bowed and offered her a hand.

“Dance with me.” 

Jaina nodded, and let the ranger lead her toward the dance floor. A traditional dance was underway, and the two fell into the steps easily.

“You seem happy,” Jaina remarked as they circled each other in time to the music. 

“I am.” Gently, Sylvanas reached out to clasp hands with her as they began to cross-step. “I have not had such a pleasant year since I was alive.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Hand in hand, Sylvanas led her in forward steps before reversing. “Despite the struggles, I truly think we’ve come out of this year far stronger for it.”

“You’ll hear no disagreement from me.”

Slowly, they circled again, arms across their torso, resting on each other’s hips. With a toothy grin, Sylvanas pulled Jaina a touch closer, so their hips touched. 

Jaina blushed, flattered at the attention. Sylvanas had always been polite since their deal, but generally kept her distance. This closeness was … unexpected; and a rather wonderful surprise.

“A fair bit of that pleasantness is because of you, my Lady.” 

“Truly?” Jaina asked, a bit light-headed. Was Sylvanas … flirting with her?

“I had no good expectations when I first approached your isles,” Sylvanas said close to her ear as they moved. “I expected your hatred, and an immediate refusal. But I had to try, for my people.”

“You did,” Jaina agreed. “That quiet nobility has always been there. Even in your worst actions, I can easily see the pattern of care for those under your protection. It’s why I fought so hard for you.”

“That you of all people took me in, after so many losses to the Horde…” Sylvanas looked away a moment, then – with a surprising deep breath – carried on. “It touched me deeply, Jaina. Beyond that, the late nights in that tent, planning troop movements, or simply sitting and spending time together…”

“Sylvanas…” Tides, this was far more than flirting. Jaina waited with bated breath, as the dance came to an end.

In the past year, she’d learned that Sylvanas Windrunner was agreeable company – more than agreeable, in fact. Once the initial jitters had calmed, they’d discovered so much in common that they’d become the best of friends.

At least, Jaina would say so. Sylvanas, reclusive undead former queen that she was, kept her cards very close to her chest. But if her Ranger-General wanted to grow closer… well, now, that would be a fine prospect indeed.

As well-loved as she was, Kul-Tirans had never truly forgotten Jaina’s heritage as Daughter of the Sea, the traitor that allowed orcs to murder her father. Nor had they forgotten her intimidating prowess as an archmage. 

No suitors sought Jaina’s hand. Years ago, Jaina had resolved herself to remain alone, rather than settle for a less-than-perfect relationship. Tandred had two young children; they could inherit the Admiralty. 

But Sylvanas… Sylvanas was different. Special. 

Worth trying for.

The band segued into a new song – a waltz. The crowd broke into couples, with several leaving to find drinks.

Sylvanas hesitated, her hands reaching for Jaina. Her mouth was half-open, the question nearly spoken.

Jaina waited, smiling – and felt a pang as Sylvanas’ hands stilled, her crimson eyes dimming to their base colourless gleam. 

“It is a partnership I hope to continue,” Sylvanas said neutrally, turning away. “Thank you for dancing with me, my Lady—”

As Sylvanas’ fingers began to fall, Jaina reached out and took them, halting the elf’s departure.

“Stay, Sylvanas.”

“I shouldn’t. I have—”

“Yes.” She sought out the ranger’s gaze, holding it with her own. She couldn’t be wrong, not with such an earnest beginning. If she was… well, she was willing to be the fool. 

“Sylvanas, _yes_.”

Sylvanas glanced down at their joined hands, before bringing her eyes back to Jaina’s. A flicker of red danced around her iris. Then two. Then a torrent. Sylvanas’ eyes blazed to life, so much so that they bathed Jaina in their crimson glow.

Powerful hands deftly took hold of her by the waist, the ranger stepping in close enough that they touched all along their front. Their legs knocked together rather comically as they both shifted, laughing slightly at their shuffle before separating slightly and easing into something that resembled a waltz. Jaina sighed and put her arms around Sylvanas’ neck, resting them neatly in the spaces inside her pauldrons.

This was most improper for a formal event.

Jaina loved it.

“You’re naughty,” Jaina whispered with a giggle. 

“You seem happy,” Sylvanas countered, mimicking Jaina’s tone from earlier, making them both laugh again.

\---<<(((0)))>>\---

How simple and easy this was. How quick the smiles and laughter came; was this truly happening? After so many years convinced that undeath had meant the cessation of all things mortal… here she was, dancing with one of her old enemies, falling into a courtship face first.

How transparent she must have been, for Jaina to call her out. But how extraordinary for Jaina to be the one to urge her along. How… intoxicating.

Sylvanas closed her eyes as a wave of raw possessiveness came over her. Will stronger than steel prevented her hands from curling to crush Jaina against her. She fought back urges to bare her fangs and leave bite marks across Jaina’s body, marking her territory in the most feral, basic manner.

She wanted. Sun and stars above, she _wanted._

But not like that. Not with the unchecked ferocity of the undead. Not with the part of her she knew without any doubt that Jaina despised … because she despised it herself.

“What are you thoughts on this evening, Jaina?” she asked, cursing herself immediately as Jaina once again giggled. Awkwardly, Sylvanas maneuvered them to the edge of the dance floor, to minimize the chances of collision.

“Are you being coy about wanting to ‘disappear together’ for the night, Sylvanas?” Jaina asked knowingly. “Because, while this is new… I’m not some timid young thing. We’re two staircases away from my rooms and privacy until morning.”

“Oh, yes,” Sylvanas husked, deliberately breathing it into Jaina’s ear. “I would like that… but…” with a deep, intentional breath, she stepped away slightly. “I’m interested in more than just tonight.”

Jaina stared at her for a moment – and Sylvanas prepared to recant everything immediately and vanish on the spot – but soon broke into a large smile. “You’re being awfully sweet, oh general of mine. This is such a new and interesting side to you.”

“I have no experience with this,” Sylvanas admitted, chagrined. “I feel strongly for you – and that in and of itself is confusing. Undeath has… changed things for me.”

“Well, offer is still there,” Jaina said at length. “Even if we just drink wine and share stories… or if I can convince you to simply stay the night with me and rest.”

“Well…” With a roll of her shoulders, Sylvanas forcefully cast away the remains of her hesitation. “If you insist… you _are_ the Lord Admiral.”

“Come then, Ranger-General.” Jaina said, pulling them towards the doors. “We have wine to drink.” 

Before they exited the ball room, Jaina stopped them, her eyes alight with mischief. “Oh! I forgot something!”

“Oh? Sylvanas glanced back across the room, then turned back. “What—”

Jaina’s lips captured hers in a firm kiss, lingering for a long moment before pulling back.

“That,” she said with a cat-like smile of satisfaction. “Now, we can go.”

Risking another glance across the room, Sylvanas saw fewer stares than she expected – truly, she expected a mob, complete with pitchforks, to appear instantly around her. 

Then again, perhaps Kul-Tirans knew their Lord Admiral could fend for herself – or at least greatly dreaded the consequences of interfering.

With a smile to match Jaina’s, Sylvanas followed her upstairs, allowing a growing hope and joy to take root in her heart.

\---<<(((0)))>>\---

The Lord Admiral and Ranger-General disappeared from the ball, not emerging until late morning. Together, the walked hand-in-hand down the streets as festivities resumed.

Only the most unobservant islander could say that they were surprised.

**Author's Note:**

> ...and to all, a Good Night!


End file.
